


Coping Contemplation

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Best Friend's Dad, Body Worship, Casual Sex, Coping, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sweat, arrested development - Freeform, empty nesting, failure to launch, musk, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Stiles asked Scott to keep an eye on his dad when he left Beacon Hills. Scott never intended for it to end up like this, but maybe it's what they both needed.





	Coping Contemplation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Why do I always gotta make these about a lot of complicated feelings? I dunno, but I hope I got enough smut in there to keep it fun. :P

If asked, Scott wouldn’t be the type of person to say he had daddy issues. Honestly, he didn’t think about his dad all that much. The guy was out of his life before Scott could really get hung up on the idea of him. Not that it probably wasn’t traumatic as a kid, but he remembers it the same way you would a heavy dream. It’s all fuzzy and he’s not sure if he’s making parts of it up.

Maybe it shaped him in ways he can’t really understand though. Like that thing psychologists are always going on about-- subliminal? Subconscious? Something like that. Maybe it’s just a part of who he is, a reason why he still eats Fruity Pebbles once a day or leaves skids in his briefs or had to be told to move out of his mom’s place.

It’s all kind of moot anyway, right? The bench marks are fucked as far as he’s concerned. Stiles is his age but acts like a forty year old soccer mom. Derek is older than him and still picks fights with kids. Everyone he knows is having relationship drama like they’re on reality tv. So what if he likes to watch cartoons until noon while scratching his balls and sniffing his fingers?

None of it really bothered him until… Well, it just seemed like maybe something he should examine after John… So, look. It’s not a big deal. Shit like this probably happens to everyone. Especially at his age! He might not be physically going to college, but it’s the same mindset right? The experimentation and the wild choices and the flying by the seat of your pants. It’s just an age thing, not like… some fucked up, needs therapy cry for help.

Scott had sex with his best friends’ dad, so what? It was only-- well it’s been a few times now-- but he wasn’t hunting for dad dick or whatever. It’s not like he went over there and shook his ass in the sheriff’s face and was prelubed and everything. Stiles just asked him to keep an eye on his old man, make sure he wasn’t eating too badly, drinking again, spending all his time alone.

And Scott liked John, he really did. The guy had always been good to him, treated him the same as Stiles. So he didn’t wanna just hang out in the door frame for a couple minutes before motoring. He went inside, stayed for the game, laughed when John said it was kinda weird to share a couple cold ones instead of immediately chastising him for drinking.

It was nice. That same flat, old couch was as comfy as ever. The shag carpet felt good curled between his toes and John didn’t care that his feet stank. In fact, the old hound tossed off his uniform shirt and flashed his pit stained undershirt freely. The beer was cheap, but perfect for the fuzzy reception on the tv. It was just nice. Just two dudes, hanging out. There wasn’t any expectation or something needing to be done, or said.

Scott didn’t feel pressured for once in his life-- to sit up straighter, to give a good speech, to explain himself. John just ruffled his still shaggy hair, said he was a good kid, left his hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott manspread, letting their thighs touch, his musky balls air out. The sun started to set, the room went darker, they kept sinking closer. Somehow Scott’s head was sat on John’s chest. He could feel the older man’s chest hair on his cheek. He could smell the dregs of his cologne, his beer, the sharpness of his sweat starting to overtake them both. He was warm, and solid, in that way dads are. Not all fat, not all muscle.

He looked at Scott with these gentle eyes, husked out a, “hey kid.” It wasn’t daddy issues that made Scott slide up to kiss him. It wasn’t failure to launch that had him whimpering when John grabbed him by the ass. There was nothing deluded or desperate about them shucking their clothes, roving their hands all over each other, huffing pits and licking sweat drops from stomachs and burying faces in stretched out, stinking underwear as they moaned.

You could argue there was something like coping happening. John was an empty nester. Scott had been left behind in his home town. But was that bad? Was holding on to something that made you feel good a mistake? Scott can’t say yes to that. Despite the fact that he hadn’t told Stiles yet, that he pretends like he’s not going over there explicitly for more, that they haven’t talked about it.

He just comes over for “the game” after the sheriff’s shift. Neither of them shower. They get buzzed but not drunk, sit close, look at each other more than the television set. John likes to lick his feet-- to rub the soles and press them to his face and suckle each, individual toe. He likes to fuck Scott with his legs on his shoulders so he can turn his face to take a hit off them whenever he needs. He kisses Scott’s ankles and scrapes teeth against his heels.

They’re always kinda sticky from sweat, then slick with saliva. They smell cheesy and weird. Scott’s stopped wearing socks because John went wild the first time he did it by accident-- licked between Scott’s toes for every ounce of grit and came all over them. It was weird, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his dick hard-- watching that calm, conservative good ol’ boy fuck between a college kid’s stinky feet and cum like crazy for it.

In fact, he’d never really noticed it before, but John’s pretty fuckin’ hot. Like he’s relatively fit for his age, but Scott’s also into the extra padding-- the way he’s kinda barrel bodied. His salt and pepper body hair is real mature and there’s something horny about the way he’s stopped trimming it, doesn’t care that it bursts out his shirt, the leg holes of his briefs, how it’s in the small of his back and across the tops of his shoulders.

Scott can see the pretty stud John used to be, with those lady killer eyes and wry smile, but he likes it better framed with some wrinkles, happily worn by sun. He’s like… well he’s like that old couch. He’s got some tears, his cushions are getting kinda flat, and he creaks. But he’s got the shape of your ass down perfect, he’s downright dependable, makes you feel at home in this way that seeps into your bones. And he’s totally cool if you can’t control your farts.

Scott never thought he’d be on his knees for John, but damn if he doesn’t love it. John’s cock is kinda misshapen-- bloated toward the head, like a cobra. But it makes Scott feel less weird about the way his curves completely sideways. His balls are uneven, kinda small, his precum stinks. But Scott likes that. It seeps into the soft skin of John’s dick and balls, stains his white briefs that are so adorable on him. Scott can always tell when he’s turned on from the musk wafting off his crotch, and it’s so lewd that it makes him grin.

His breath always reeks of it after, tongue coated with that dank, dirty musk. Makes him feel sexy, masculine. And John doesn’t complain when they kiss after, moans at the taste. Scott doesn’t really know what they’re doing, what it all means. And it sounds so fucking stupid, but he doesn’t wanna put a label on it. Why does that matter? No one knows but them, and it’s no one else’s business.

Maybe he thinks about it too much, maybe he worries too often if it makes them bad people or whatever. But it just feels right, straddling John’s lap and kissing his neck while taking his dick. He feels safe in the sheriff’s bed. He feels good about pleasuring this guy that’s always watched out for him. It’s… fulfilling to be wanted by someone who’s got their shit together and has seen it all before.

Scott doesn’t feel like a toy or a hobby or a fetish. He feels like… the sheriff’s boy. In all the weird ways that digs up. But it’s good. They’re happy. So screw the subtext or whatever. They’re dealing, just like everybody else. And they’re doing it together.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for a friend over on ko-fi. If you like this kind of content or just my writing, come on and hang out with me over on twitter @DirtcoreD There's lots of community interaction there. You can vote on what I write next, catch new content early, and get involved in lots of inane conversations. :P


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